Birthing the Reaper
by skye-hunter
Summary: This is an imaging of one of Foyet's first kills written before episode "100" . It's a rather dark piece as it follows and enters the mind of a young Foyet so you've been warned.


Author's Note: This is a very dark fic!! It involves getting sexual pleasure from doing great violence to others, multiple murders, and spending time in the mind of a budding sociopath.

* * *

"Every unpunished murder takes away something from the security of every man's life" ~ Daniel Webster

***

The thoughts alone were almost too much to bear, he could feel his breath grow heavier under his mask so that, when he saw his intended and ducked into a side street just a block from where they stood, he was practically panting. His undershirt clung to him with sweat and he smiled at the thought. Most would be nervous, but not him. He was excited, more excited than ever before. He took a deep breath in, holding it there, as the young couple passed…William and Martha. There really wasn't anything special about either of them; George only knew them in passing the halls of the private school before he'd chosen them. But then that was the point. No one obvious, no one who actually knew him or that could ever be connected to him. George slipped out of the alley and began to follow.

He pulled his black leather gloves on as the couple snuck out from the crowds towards a car parked on a side street where houses were dark and tourists didn't travel from lack of interest, even on Halloween night in Salem MA. Funny how a place that so suited two lovers' purposes also suited his. He smirked some as the couple entered the car and it began to move with the unmistakable motions of a sexual encounter. George stayed completely still, in the shadows, watching. He wasn't a voyeur or anything, nothing about his peers' awkward pawings at one another's bodies interested the seventeen-year-old, he was just waiting until they'd let their guard down enough to make the scare that much more powerful…that much better an experience for him. When he felt the timing was right he grabbed a small stone nearby and gently launched it over the car he was crouched behind to the couple's car where it hit with a small "clink". George waited a moment but the two lovers took no note. How disappointing. He gave sigh under his mask and grabbed another, larger, rock. This one he threw with some force toward the streetlamp.

"What was that?" the female voice asked from within the car as the rock thudded the wood of the streetlight nearby. George felt his breathing pick up once more, his excitement rising with the fear evident in the girl's voice as it flowed unevenly from a crack the couple had allowed in the car's window when they'd first entered.

"Nothin' baby," the male voice replied, clearly not wanting to stop, "probably just some animal or, ya know, idiot outside."

"Well, go check," the girl ordered, clearly not about to go any farther without confirmation it was safe outside. Martha wore the pants in the relationship…George would save her for last.

William sighed and mumbled a statement of acquiesce before going to head out of the car. "There's no one out here," he commented, agitated, as he did up the fly of his pants. He looked back into the darkness of the car and then sighed realizing he'd have to do more just take a quick look to satisfy Martha. He circled the car before asking to get back in and being refused once again and with further instructions. "Fine, I'll go look over at the other cars too then." He began to head to the car behind them where George waited.

One, two…keep breathing….steady…four, five, George counted the footsteps out as he began to pant hard and fast, shift his weight on the balls of his feet, in anxious need. He slipped the knife out of its hiding space at his back and made attempts to control his breathing so William wouldn't know it was coming. George wanted to see that shock, the shock of a star athlete coming face to face with a peer he wouldn't normally give a second glance to. A peer who, in the end, William would fall at the hands of. As the other young male turned to look around the back of the car George shot up faster than even he thought possible and slammed the knife deep and hard into the center of William's neck.

William's voice box was penetrated causing a wonderful pop and then weak hissing sound. He wanted to cry out for help, to warn Martha, to ask why. The terror and pain showed in his eyes even as he began to slump down, desperately reaching out for anything that might keep him upright. His attacker stepped back and watched behind a cold, blank, mask.

George slowly tilted his head from side to side as William hit the pavement. The blood was really starting to come now, alternatively oozing with spurts whenever the young man tried to talk. Focusing in on his victim's eyes, the terror they expressed, George felt a shiver. He leaned down some to get a better look and, with each bloody gurgle let out he felt his own blood rush through his body. "Not bad," he commented happily before frowning, unhappy with not having sounded fearsome enough. He cleared his throat, and tried again with a deeper, more threatening, voice, "Not bad." This time he got the reaction he wished as his victim's eyes widened in panic. He gave a dark chuckle. "Not bad at all," the teen commented in a low growl that edged on arousal. George stayed; his heart rate soared while the other teen's slowed to a stop. When confident he'd achieved his first kill George slowly stood up and took a deep breath to keep himself focused, though as the scent of William's blood and urine, the graphic smells of death and fear, entered his nostrils his eyes nearly rolled back in an unadulterated moment of ecstasy.

By the time he reached Martha she'd started to get out of the car, fixing her outfit, as she called, worriedly, for William. She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of the man all in black. In the moment he looked seven feet tall and a massive being…a true monster. Martha swallowed hard as tears welled up in her eyes. "William?" she croaked out, already knowing the answer to her question.

"William's dead. I killed him," the thin young man, a young man actually just a touch taller than his female victim-to-be, behind the black mask growled out, his breath heavy as eyes scanned over the girl's shaking body, then back to the blue pools of pure fear in her eyes. "Are you scared? 'Cause you should be." He could barely get the words out as his voice thickened in primal need. He grabbed her by the throat and forced her back into the backseat of the car, getting on top of her.

"D-Don't…please…" Martha begged as she gasped for air under his crushing weight on her neck and chest.

George knew what she was thinking as her thigh muscles tightened under him, "Don't worry, I'm not gonna rape you," he reassured her in a near coo as he shifted some to use his body to keep her pinned down while raising the hand with the still bloodied knife for Martha to see.

The girl gave a grateful look as she nodded some…then she saw the knife with the blood on it. William's blood! She gasped and squirmed under her assailant in utter desperation to be free. But the blade entered anyway and she gave a pitifully weak cry of pain as she felt her flesh in her side being torn open and her own tears start to sting her eyes.

The young man let out a moan as he stabbed her and felt the sudden warmth of her blood on his hands even as they were covered in gloves. It was infinitely better than the times he'd had sex, infinitely better than all his dreams and fantasies…it was the single most incredible thing he'd experienced. Breath heavy enough it came in pants and gasps once more as George pulled out and plunged dear Martha over and over again with the knife. He moved faster, building into an almost frenzy, and, as the girl's blood pooled under her, his pooled at the organ between his thighs.

Only physical exhaustion and feelings of the hot, sticky, release of orgasm coating his thighs and boxers made young George slow to a stop. He couldn't say which wound killed the girl under him, but she was most certainly dead now. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself before he crawled out from the back of the car, shaking in the after effects of it all. If he didn't have to leave to avoid detection he'd have enjoyed a smoke and passed out on the lawn in pure bliss. Sadly, though, he had to go. Though first he grabbed a memento since he would be sure not to return to Salem anytime soon but certainly wished to remember this night.

***

He removed his black paintball mask and shirked off his water-resistant trench coat first, tossing them into his trunk. Then he carefully tucked his knife, then gloves, away under his spare tire and went to turn his sweatshirt right-side-in once again before he closed the trunk. It was a New England night outside and the abrupt change in temperature gave him a chill, then a rush, as his undershirt clung to his sweat-soaked body. He put his sweatshirt back on, Thayer Academy emblem in the front, and got in his car. George dug into his pocket for the souvenir he'd taken and pulled it out. It was a watch, William's, no doubt taken off in his attempted exploits with Martha. George put it on his left wrist, enjoying the cool metal of his medal on skin still warm from gloves. He then spent a full minute watching his own panting breath exhale in wisps of smoke before he felt clear-headed enough to start the car and drive.

As he headed down an empty Route 128 he smirked a little…this was the sort of seclusion he'd use next time. And there would be a next time, there would be many next times. He couldn't give up a high like this, not ever. It was the first time in his life he felt…real. He turned off the highway at his exit, flying high on the rush of his night with the couple, and continued about three miles before he saw the blue and red flashes of light. "Fuck," the teen cursed under his breath. He'd forgotten the speed traps set up on holidays such as this. He took a deep breath, stay calm, they don't know anything, they'll never know anything because they're idiots…they're nothing compared to you, George, and pulled over to the side. He dug into the glove box and got out his license and registration, then his glasses for added effect. He rolled down his window. "May I help you, Officer?" he inquired politely as he intentionally fumbled some to put his glasses on.

"License and registration," the traffic cop stated with barely a look as he took them, "You know how fast you were going?"

"No sir, I'm afraid I don't," he confessed. He'd been too busy remembering how Martha squealed in agony and horror while his knife cut her body open.

The cop leaned down to peer into the car at its driver and smirked a little when his eye caught the emblem, "Thayer, huh?"

"Yes sir."

"You been drinking, Foyet?" The police officer's eyes narrowed, his tone aggressive, as he tried to intimidate the truth out of the kid. He'd had his fair share of troublemakers from that school; rich little shits who went out, got drunk, and crashed their nice Mommy-and-Daddy-bought cars into minivans filled with families.

"No sir," George replied, as if horrified at the thought and legitimately unsettled by the cop. He guessed the question came from his appearance; hair sticking up in some spots while flattened down at others, shirt more than a little wrinkled, and a fine sheen of sweat over his face. And so George created the prefect explanation as he gave a slightly sheepish look, "I was…studying…with my girlfriend."

The cop laughed, "Studying. Sure." He handed the teen his documents back, "Just try and stay under the speed limit, okay? No girl is worth the hassle of a ticket, trust me." The cop teased a little before he headed back to his cruiser with a smile, glad to have pulled over a good kid for once.

Young George Foyet smirked some. He'd gotten away with it. All of it. He really was unstoppable. Humanity didn't stand a chance and, soon enough, they would all realize it. They would fear him, tremble at the mere mention of him, and no one would ever be able to stop him. Ever. He looked down at William's watch and took a deep breath in, exhaling in a moan of deep, all-consuming, satisfaction.


End file.
